I Hear You Knocking But...

I don't want the damn Watchtower. I don't want to be woken up by my children, after only twenty minutes of my nap time (I still work overnights), telling me that there's a guy with a shirt and tie on with a ticket book at our front door.

I don't want to talk abut Jehovah. Or Yahweh or Buddah, Shiva, Mohhammed, or Confucius either.

I don't want any damn literature or pamphlet.

I want you to go away. Quickly. As in right now.

I have nothing against you or your religion. But as of right now...


I want to sleep.

I want my home to be a bastion of privacy from people knocking on my door, scaring my kids and waking me up to talk about God.

I want to sleep.

I want to pick you up by your collar and belt and physically heave you fifteen feet or so into the air whilst I grumble, "You woke me up...", as you land on a patch of grass in my front yard. Hopefully that patch of grass has been used by my Blue Heeler as her chosen toilet that morning.

And no, I don't want to by frozen meat out of the back of your truck. I don't want to help you with your college student trip to Uzbekistan by buying magazines.

I wonder if a "No Trespassing" sign will work...